Seeing that Clare did not reply, Mrs. Quince resumed after a moment, “There always were things about those Lovels that weren’t natural. Now here’s another thing: how did he ride from King’s Avon to Marlborough and back on a night like last night, if something unholy wasn’t in league with him? No other man in the village could have done it, and there’s not many that would have tried. No, let the baby go, they’d have said, and the woman too, if need be. And he’s always out on those hills; if he had to go after sheep there would be some sense in it, but he just goes straying alone when most men are glad enough to keep their fireside. He’s been seen on the top of White Horse Hill, in the middle of a blizzard fit to cut you in half. And I have heard it told, that after he’s passed by, the Grey Wethers have been found uncovered; yes, even though they were at the bottom of the deepest drift there they’ll be, sticking up black in the middle of the snow.” “You can’t believe everything you’re told, Mrs. Quince.” “Well, that’s as it may be, madam. All the same, I stick to it that there is something unholy about those Lovels; it’s easy to say the younger one is daft, but there’s nothing daft about Nicholas,--far from it. So why does he look so dark and queer? and why must he pass on his sly Egyptian blood to an English girl? if he must get children, let him get them on one of his own sort, that’s what I say.” Here Calladine came in. “Secrets?” he asked in his most urbane manner, seeing Mrs. Quince become silent in the midst of garrulity. “No,” said Clare. “Mrs. Quince was telling me that Lovel’s wife has had a son, and that Lovel had to go to Marlborough in the middle of the night to fetch the doctor.” “Dear me, that’s a daring, uncomfortable thing to do,” said Calladine, smiling in a patronising way. “Yes,” said Clare, looking at him. “Not many people would have cared for the job, I think.” Calladine laughed negligently. “You always had a weakness for your poacher,” he replied. “Would you be wanting me any more, madam?” enquired Mrs. Quince. “If Lovel’s wife is in need of anything I can send her, please let me know, Mrs. Quince.” “Yes, madam. Very good of you, madam.” When the housekeeper had left the room, Calladine said, “I never question your actions, as you know, Clare, but do you think it judicious to encourage these people? The woman was married not very long before ourselves, yet she already gives birth to a baby; the man is well-known as an undesirable in the whole neighbourhood.” Clare went up to him. “Oh, Richard,” she cried gaily, “are they worth talking about any longer?” She pushed him down into his armchair and knelt at his feet. “What are we going to do to-day, tell me?” “To do?” repeated Calladine in surprise. “Why, what is there that we could possibly do on a day like this? What a restless spirit it is--always crying out to be up and doing--when I am quite content if I may sit and look into your eyes.”